Second Best
by RaptorSaysRawr
Summary: "You try to hide the fact that it hurts, hurts like hell. They've lost interest in you ever since they realized you were second best to her."


**AN: I haven't really updated anything for Harry Potter in a while because I've kind of given up on my other story but recently, I've become intrigued by Dominique Weasley and just HAD to do this. I got this idea while walking home the other day and a week later, here's the fruit of my labor (and procrastination when it comes to school work). Do read and enjoy, and possibly review, yes? :)**

Second Best

You're sitting on the old decrepit swing set outside of your grandparents' house. Alone, of course. You think that's the way it will always be. As you swing backandforth, backandforth, a sort of numbness that has nothing to do with the cold creeps into your spine as you realize you'll be alone forever.

Your family denies that _horrible_ accusation whenever you pluck up enough courage to voice your concern. They don't seem to realize that they're often the cause of it. Don't they see the way they isolate you? That's why you dread coming home, absolutely _hate_ it. When you step through the door of the Burrow they avoid you like the plague, laughing and joking all the while ignoring _you_. You try to hide the fact that it hurts, hurts like _hell_. They've lost interest in you ever since they realized you were second best to _her_.

You were born into a big family, too big for your taste. There were so many people swarming around you when you were growing up; it was unbearable. People envy you for that. Some people wish they could be surrounded by others all the time. Not you. You wish they would go away (even though you'd miss them like hell). Sometimes you can't even remember all of them (even though their names are etched like a tattoo on your brain). There's Molly**&**Lucy**&**Louis**&**James**&**Fred**&**Roxanne**&**Albus**&**Rose**&**Hugo**&**Lily**&**_her_. Always her. _He's _there too, but only not really. He practically lives with your uncle but he's no family of yours.

Not anymore.

With all of those people how can you be so lonely?

Easily, of course.

When you got that letter, that ohsosweet letter, you were ecstatic. You were finally getting away from the craziness. But they would be there, not all of them but most. So what were you really escaping? You started to think that maybe it was not such a good idea. You begged your parents to let you stay, begged (screamed) and pleaded (cried). You didn't want to go. Not with _her_. You'd be right under her shadow again.

For a while you thought your tactics were working. Daddy seemed concerned. His heart ached when his little girl was obviously in distress, even when you were obviously _faking_. You loved that about him. You were his little girl, _mon chéri_ he would call you. He was keener with Louis occasionally (he _is_ his only son, even though you often question your little brother's sexuality) but he always made time for you. Always&forever.

What you loved most, however, was how you imagined he picked you over _her_. She tried to gain his attention, oh damn right she did, but he favored _you_. The first person to ever do so. They'll tell you it's unwise to pick favorites, that he loves you all equally. But you know the truth. He loves you more. It was as simple as that.

Things change. All good things must come to an end. She got her letter (five years before you, which she refused to let you forget), the letter she always rubbed in your face and suddenly she was daddy's special girl. She was the one he played with, the one he took flying, the one who took over your role of comforting him during the full moon. She stole your father and you resented her for that. That's when it started, the first time you ever heard those horrible eight words:

"Why can't you be more like your sister?"

Your mother was the first to say it. You were playing with Jamie and Freddie out in grandma's garden (they were your favorites). The three of you were gnome hunting; something maman turned her prettylittlenose up at. You had your tiny grubby hands on a particularly nasty one when it started to rain. The boys were thrilled. You stared quizzically at them while they danced through the tears falling from the sky, the tears that dripped down your face, until they pulled you into their frolicking. You were frightened at first: what would maman think? But you were having too much fun to care. So it was expected when you all traipsed into the house, dripping of mud and eyes wide with excitement, for her to be upset.

"You ruined your new dress!"

What wasn't expected was her snapping those damned words at you. The coldness in her prettyblueeyes turned them to ice. You recoiled at the harsh look she was giving you. You looked to the others for some sort of support.

What was even more surprising was your father agreeing with her.

It was on that day that something inside of you snapped. You always had a feeling your mother never liked you. You were absolutely nothing like her, but _she_ was. That's why she hated you (maybe she didn't, but you were too angry to think straight). Vicky flounced about in her pretty little sundresses with long blond hair flowing down her back while she followed every stupid rule your mother thought little girls should follow. You were nothing like that. You hated those ugly dresses you were forced into and your hair is nothing like Vick's. It _is_ blond but tainted with the infamous Weasley red. You broke every rule maman set out for you. Vicky is beautiful. You're not. Vicky has a future.

The only thing you had going for you was the fact that you're a Weasley.

You aren't even one of _those_ Weasleys, the ones born to someone from the Golden Trio. But you were a Weasley nonetheless. Maybe you were glad. You saw the way the others were treated: people only wanted to be their friends because of who they _knew_, not who they _were_. You didn't want that. But it happened anyway. You weren't one of _those_ Weasleys but your father was a _war hero_. And brother-in-law to the Boy Who Lived.

But you were also _you. _Pretty little perfect _you_. You were molded into a darling little girl by your famous parents (though not as famous as the others). You were bold and beautiful, a dignified Gryffindor at best. You spoke in that sickeningly sweet voice you learned from _her_ and made yourself into a teacher's pet so you wouldn't get into trouble. But there, at Hogwarts, most people only seemed to care who your sister was.

If only they knew the true you.

Pretty not-so-little imperfect _you_. The you who hides behind an indecipherable mask because no one would care what was on the other side. The girl who has mastered the art of the fake smile. The girl who rebels against everything her parents want her to be. The girl who's heart aches every day. The girl who was almost put into Slytherin because she's _that _good at faking it. The girl who's best friend is a bottle of firewhiskey. The girl who holds an infinite amount of lies behind her pretty Weasley blue eyes. The girl who's façade is no where near as good as Victoire.

Not that the real you is any better.

So you're just one big lie, aren't you? You don't even know who you are. Are you the girl maman wants you to be? Are you supposed to be Vicky's doppelganger? (Like _that_ would ever happen) You want to be your own person. But who is she? You try to figure it out by drawing all of the wrong attention to you.

It started the day you realized your parents wanted you to be _her_, stupid, fucking _perfect_, high and mighty_ her_. But you can't because you're _you_. So the day you got to go off to Hogwarts _finally_ was the day you set everything into action. Maman laid out your prettiest dress and nicest shoes which you may have enjoyed once—when you were five. They were Vicky's, which made you hate them ever more. In a fit of rage you took a pair of scissors to the ugly silk dress and hung the strips from your sister's ceiling. You threw the shoes into the ocean and raided your brother's closet, dressing in a pair of his jeans (which you swam in) and one of his dress shirts (that was for your mother's sake). Your parents took one look at you and were speechless. The corner of one's lips twitched ever so slightly and the other was glowing red in rage (three guesses who). The best was when _she_ came downstairs shouting about the ruined dress she wouldn't have even been able to fit anymore.

You were all smiles on the trip to King's Cross. You rode in your uncle's car with Jamie and Freddie, who complimented you on your genius. You were beginning to think the year to come wouldn't be that bad but of course _she_ had to ruin it. By the time the entire family of Weasleys and Potters assembled, they knew of the damage you had done to Vicky's priceless possessions. A few stared at you in disappointment but most were fighting to hold in laughter. The glare you got from your sister gave you one message: she was going to give you _hell_.

Your mother fussed over you, trying to get you to change into something more _feminine_, apparently not even caring that you were leaving for months on end. She gave an exasperated sigh and hugged you, kissing you on both cheeks. You wanted to cling to her forever. It was rare to receive affection from her; she mostly gave it to Victoire. But now you regretted ever saying you hated her when you had your arms wrapped around her waist, breathing in the familiar floral scent that was Fleur Weasley. The moment was ruined when she turned to your sister and gave her a longer hug, a few tears escaping her eyes. Your fists clenched at your side and you went off to find your father.

But that was when you saw _him_.

You've seen him before, of course. He _is _pretty much family. But you've never seen him like _this_. He's standing uncertainly on the edge of the platform, his eyes frequently grazing your horrible family. You notice his gaze lingers on one particular person, though. When he catches sight of you, however, his face lights up. He pulls you into a tight hug, going on about how big you've gotten. His eyes are alive with happiness and his hair is shifting through so many different colors you can barely remember what it looked like five seconds ago.

That's when you knew you were in love with Teddy Lupin.

You love everything about him: The bright light of his everchanging eyes; the outrageous colors he makes his hair that the others frown upon (which is why you love it; turquoise is your favorite); his annoying clumsiness (which you hear is so much like the Auntie Dora you've never met); his lopsided smile with dimples to boot; that inquisitive nature he has when faced with something new; the way he furrows his brow when he's thinking (it is _oh_so adorable); the way he says your name in a funny little French accent; ("Ma belle Dominique." _It gets you every time_); how you're the only one he's ever shown the _real_ Teddy.

Or so you think.

You open your mouth to speak but you're cut off by an annoyingly high-pitched squeal. Teddy's smile grows even more and he leaves you stranded for none other than your sister. Your perfectly pretty obnoxious sister.

That's a low blow and he doesn't even know it.

So you're already in a bad mood by the time you board the train and it becomes even worse when she has the _nerve_ to even talk to you. Scold is a more appropriate word. After she pretends she's happy you two get to be together and she's thrilled to see the cousins, she tells you she's noticed you've been getting out of hand lately and if you step out of line once, just once, you're done. She's a prefect after all. You're mere seconds away from telling her where she can shove that shiny prefect badge when _they _walk in. She casts one sneer in their direction (maman told you both they were unsuitable people) and stalks off. You immediately throw your arms around the nearest boy and thank him repeatedly for getting rid of the bitch.

The Scamander twins eye you imploringly and wait for James to explain the problem with your sister. They nod understandingly (even though they _don't_ understand) and seat themselves beside you. You've known them as long as you've known any of your cousins. Ever since your mother mentioned she did not like the Scamanders you made it your mission to become their best friends, which you did of course. You always liked Aunt Luna, even though she's not your aunt but she might as well be. You listened intently to her stories about nargles and crumple-horned snorkacks and even helped in her journeys to find plimpies. It was only natural you would be quite fond of her boys, Lorcan and Lysander. They were so much like her you loved them even more.

When you got to the school, you anticipated the Sorting. You wondered where you would go. Jamie became a Gryffindor (no surprise there) alongside Molly and Vicky. Lysander joined Lucy in Ravenclaw, and his brother went to Gryffindor (now _that_ was a bit of a shock). You were left alone to worry over what house you'd be in with Fred and Roxanne. You knew where he would go. He was too brave for his own good. Maybe it wasn't bravery, more like _idiocy_. And Roxanne would most definitely be a Ravenclaw (which she was). Your turn to sit under the hat now. It gave you a bit of a jolt when the old thing talked to you. It whispered different things to you, tried to convince you Slytherin was where you belonged. You had much more tact than your cousins. You were brilliant, conniving. You were terrified at the thought. You couldn't be a Slytherin. What would papa think? So you willed it to put you in the other choice. So you sat down beside James and Lorcan (who smiled at you in that cute way of his) to tumultuous cheers and waited for Fred to join you.

The three boys (four whenever they could include Lysander) became your best friends. You lot did everything together. You were often compared to the Marauders, which was the highest compliment anyone could give you. For years you all ran the school, much to your sister's dismay. But thanks to your inner Slytherin, you rarely got into trouble. If you did, it would have totally been worth it, though. After all, the new-generation Marauders were the geniuses behind dying the hair of every Slytherin Gryffindor colors (no one knew how you managed and you weren't going to tell) and the masterminds who somehow got Peeves on their side so he could help them suspend the House tables in the Great Hall and spin them until little Alice Longbottom got sick. Oh, Hogwarts was certainly under a new pranking regime. Things were going so well you thought you had finally stopped living in other people's shadows.

But you were wrong, of course.

_They_ came to Hogwarts, too, and you were thrust right back into the void. Rose took over as the smartest witch of the school when she came. Albus nearly lost you your spot on the Quidditch team as he was such a good chaser the captain couldn't decide who to pick and considered getting rid of none other than _you_. Louis ("the dazzling blond boy with those incredible eyes," your friends would say and it'd make you gag) and Hugo were such brilliant pranksters, they pushed you out of the limelight the new-generation Marauders had given you (even though you were the architect behind most of their pranks). Lily shocked the world by becoming a Slytherin. And of course the Potters and _those_ Weasleys were much bigger news than you would ever be. Now that the entire family was in Hogwarts, there was no more time to spare one glance at poor little Dominique Weasley.

That was when you decided you wouldn't be second best to _anyone_.

Third year was a big one for you. It was the first year you'd be at school _without_ your sister (thank Merlin for that). One less shadow for you to live in at your home away from home. The world saw a change in your person. You realized you liked boys (not just the amazingly_gorgeous_but_incredibly_**naïve** Teddy Lupin) and the appraising looks they threw your way. But they always compared you to _her_.

So you decided to do something about that.

You cut your waist-length strawberry blond locks until they stopped abruptly at your chin (maman was furious but you saw this as a plus). You traded your brother's clothes for short_short_**short** skirts and low_low_**low** cut tops (daddy was speechless and highly agitated). Your lips were stained red and your bright icy blue eyes were heavily lined with charcoal, giving you a much darker look compared to your sister's "sunshine and daisies" demeanor. And now the boys were practically throwing themselves at you. Mission accomplished.

But you still weren't happy. You received attention, plenty of it. It wasn't because of who you were, though. Girls clung to you and made you their unofficial "queen" because you were "pretty" and more experienced and _brave_ and talented at gaining the male attention. Boys typically only talked to you if they wanted a good snog or something more as the years went on. You got their attention, all right. But the way you had to do it was what bothered you and made you miserable.

And then stupid, barmy Teddy had to go ask Victoire to marry him.

You felt as if your world was falling apart. The entire family, including the Scamanders (to maman's dismay and your delight), Longbottoms, and Teddy and his grandma Andy, was at grandma and grandpa Weasleys' for a summer feast. You were sitting on that swing set under the oak tree, the one you claimed as your castle ever since you were little. No one knew you were there, which is why you liked the spot. You heard voices nearing you and panicked, only to realize there was no reason for you to be in trouble. The voices belonged to Teddy and Victoire. He was telling her how much he loved her and couldn't live without her (here your heart clenched uncomfortably). Then you saw from the shadows when he knelt on one knee and produced a little velvet box (your fist tightened around the swing's rope).

But (thankfully) your idiotic sister said no.

Was she insane? She went on and on about how much she loved Teddy and yet, she just turned him down. She told him not know, maybe in a few years when she was going somewhere with her career as a Healer. That was a load of bull and you knew it. It reminded you of one of those strange Muggle toys that you shook to get an answer to some question. Teddy shook Victoire until the clouds in her eyes evaporated and told him quite clearly, "Sorry, ask again later." He tried to play off his hurt by joking around but you saw right through him (you always did). You noticed the way his hair returned to its natural dull brown color when she left him sitting there. You saw the pain in his eyes as he crossed over to your hiding spot and was shocked to see you. You felt the tinge of remorse and regret and _shame_ he felt when you held his hand in yours as you two swung gently in silence.

That's when you knew you would always love Teddy Lupin.

But he would never love you because you were second best to _her_.

It didn't matter, though, because you had someone else to occupy your attention. Someone that didn't make you second to anyone else. Lorcan Scamander, one of your best friends for years, loved you almost as much as you loved Teddy. And you were able to admit to yourself that it was possible you loved him back. He told you one day at your the Burrow as you both sat in the shade of the apple tree, your head on his shoulder. He was telling you about one of his parents' recent adventures as you traced circles into the cool surface of his hand. You were shocked when he laced your fingers together but you liked the way it felt. He gave you that award winning smile and suddenly, you didn't care that he was _different_, whatever that means. You realized you didn't care he believed in a multitude of creatures that probably didn't exist or that he always seemed to wear two bright mismatching socks (if he was even in the mood to wear shoes) or that his whole family wasn't what people deemed _normal_ but you took his uniqueness in stride and loved every little abnormal thing about him. So when he turned to you and placed his lips on yours before whispering those three sweet words as you ran your fingers through his silky blond hair (that, for a moment, reminded you horribly of your mother's and thus _hers_) you figured that maybe, just maybe you had enough love to give to Lorcan as well.

Getting together with Lorcan wasn't a surprise to James, Fred, and Lysander (they claim they knew it was going to happen all along) but everyone else was a bit taken aback. Especially maman. Aunt Luna was rather pleased by the turn of events and Uncle Rolf was indifferent. Victoire thought you were being stupid (so you told her she was being a bitch and that made her back off). Daddy was fine with it and you honestly didn't care what anyone else thought. Except for one. You noticed the way his hair would shift to that brown color when he saw you two together before catching himself and quickly changing it to lime green or the slightly pink color of yours just to mock you. You asked him about it one day and he told you he was fine, even though his eyes said otherwise.

You were happy; at least that's what you told yourself. You finally had someone that loved you for _you_. Lorcan was positively wonderful and you really _did_ like him. But you were still miserable and you had a feeling he knew. He noticed the way your mind wandered when he was talking to you. He knew that when you were kissing him you were imagining you were with someone else. He was second best and you hated yourself for making him that. As wonderful as he may have been, Lorcan could never be _him_.

Which is how you ended up in a right mess a year after your final semester at Hogwarts.

James was throwing a party at his parents' house as they were out of town with majority of the other parents. Everyone came and when you say that, you mean _everyone_. Even Victoire got off of her high horse to join in the fun. Tons of firewhiskey was involved and when you say that, you mean a hell of a lot. You were in heaven. Despite your lovely boyfriend being there, you drank away your sorrows and wallowed in glass after glass of liquor. This night was not going to end well.

You somehow ended up in the arms of a brown haired stranger. For a second you thought you saw his hair change to an odd shade of purple but it couldn't be. You were pretty far gone so you weren't seeing straight. Your lips touched and an explosion happened, magnified by the copious amount of alcohol in your bloodstream. He dragged you upstairs, all the while you giggled like mad. You found yourself in similar situations quite often lately so you were okay with it (even though you weren't, not really).

You woke up twelve hours later and the first thing you noticed was a shock of red hair. The only redheads you remembered were your cousins. What could they be doing here? Then the color shifted to a vibrant pink. Something clicked and you practically jumped out of the bed, then realizing you weren't wearing a single thing. You were dead, _oh_so dead. (But _oh_sohappy)

"Shit, Dom, I'm so sorry," he murmured over and over again as he dressed himself (even though he wasn't). "This shouldn't have happened." (_Because you're not her_)

He didn't say it but the message was clear underneath his words. That's what hurt the most. You were still second best. So you rolled onto your side, your back to him, and told him he better run off to his precious Vicky. He stared at you in shock before leaving and shutting the door behind him. He didn't hear your pitiful sobs after that.

You were broken from your miserable swinging and reverie of the years past by the gentle sound of hesitant footsteps. Lorcan appeared from out of the shadows and sat on the ground beside you. He was wearing his finest dress robes (which were an electric blue color you simply loved) and an expression of pure concern. You smiled weakly and told him you'd be okay.

After that lost night with Teddy, he urged Victoire to move up the wedding and she finally agreed. So you were all assembled for a luxurious ceremony in the grandparents' garden, just like the one your parents had. You were terribly surprised when your sister asked you to be her maid of honor. You would have asked Lorcan to skip with you but now that you were obligated you were here, dressed in an expensive flouncy cream colored dress with your homegrown bouquet carelessly discarded on the ground at your feet. You didn't expect anyone to find you but you knew he would; he always did. That's what you loved most about him—he knew when you needed someone.

An hour later, you found yourself in front of a group of people, many of which you didn't even know. You were positioned beside your beaming sister, a fake smile plastered on your face. She thrust her own bouquet into your arms and eagerly bonded herself to the man she proclaimed her love to. It made you physically sick when the newlyweds kissed. Your parents forced you into making a toast for your sister and your brother-in-law and you were thankful you were such a good liar as bullshit words of "such magnificent warmth" spewed from your mouth like the rich meal that was inevitably coming back up. You excused yourself from the group after they gave your phony speech a round of applause.

You rushed into the house, practically running over Lily in the process. In your haste you missed the understanding look she gave you. You bounded up the stairs and tugged off your dress, tempted to do to it what you did to the dress you almost wore your first day of Hogwarts. Nothing really changed since then, did it? You opted to shove it in the farthest corner under Uncle George's old bed and you slipped on a tight form-fitting black dress with hints of blue lace that matched your eyes, a dress maman would never approve of. You nearly ripped the pins out of your hair that now ended mid-back and hastily raked your fingers through it, kicking off your shoes in the process. Now that you were more yourself (whoever that was) you reemerged and accepted the dance with the son of your mother's old friend Viktor.

After endless dancing, ten different partners, stepped-on toes, chatting with strangers, and five glasses of champagne, _he_ approached you. You were already feeling light and airy and you vowed no one would bring you from this high. But there he was, looking as adorable as ever. He grinned sheepishly and held out his hand, exposing the glittering ring that would forever be on his finger. You eyed the little thing with the deepest contempt and accepted with a curt nod of your head. As you danced, he told you how happy he was and how much he loved your speech ("Was that planned? No? Brilliant!"). Then he reminded you of your debutante. You laughed a little, despite yourself. It was something your mother made you do to introduce you to society. Teddy had been your escort (which thrilled you to no end) and you had to endure his horrible dancing. Even though he probably permanently bruised your feet, you had had the greatest time of your life with him.

And he didn't even care.

Before the tears could escape, you left him without a goodbye to dance with one of the Scamander boys (you were suddenly so upset you couldn't tell which it was).

So there you were sitting at a table with your friends. You had your head on Lorcan's shoulder, your fingers intertwined. James held your other hand as you all watched the married couple waltz under the canopy of stars. You were sniffling, trying to suppress the sudden onslaught of emotion. Everyone thought they were happy tears. Boy, were they thick. You hastily downed a shot of firewhiskey your cousin somehow acquired and stood, dragging Lorcan with you. You needed out _now_.

The two of you were under the apple tree where he first told you he loved you. He turned to you, wondering what was wrong. Before he could voice his question, you were kissing him. The kiss became urgent and he pressed you against the tree. Your lips melded together and his hands trailed the contours of your body, fingering the lace at the edge of your dress.

Suddenly there was screaming. You jumped apart as maman rounded the corner, shouting about how you were ruining the wedding by doing Merlin knows what with that Scamander boy (the way she said that last bit made it sound like Lorcan were some sort of disease). You yelled right back, telling her no one gave two shits about what she was doing because they were all too busy fawning over precious Victoire and _she_ was making it worse by shouting and calling attention to herself like she always did and there was absolutely nothing wrong with "that Scamander boy". Lorcan looked increasingly uncomfortable, which was unusual for him.

Your mother's hand twitched, as if she was itching to smack you. She said in a cold voice that you should be more like your sister and settle down with someone like Teddy. That was worse than any slap to the face. You were about to retort when she roughly grabbed your arm and dragged you away. You shot an apologetic look at Lorcan and he nodded numbly, offering a timid smile before walking away.

She closed you in the bedroom you used to share with Victoire, the room that once belonged to Aunt Ginny. She was going to make you stay there until you thought about the things you did and you couldn't come out unless you wanted to apologize. She turned deaf ears on your cries of injustice because you did nothing wrong and you were too old for her to punish you anyway.

She left and you crumpled onto the bed. It was a matter of minutes before you became a crying mess. You cried for the years of oppressed emotions that you would never let spill because it would show weakness. You cried because you were alone. You cried because you weren't Victoire. You cried because you weren't as brilliant as Rose, or as good at Quidditch as Al, or as funny as James or Fred, or anything that compared to your cousins. You cried because you weren't good enough to be the daughter of a war hero and a TriWizard Champion. You cried because no one loved you for _you_. You cried because you didn't have Teddy. And as Lily silently made her way into the room and wrapped her arms around you (because she had been where you are, for she had lost him too) you cried even harder because you would always be second best.


End file.
